


The Wolf and the Lamb

by Demibel



Series: The Viking Family [2]
Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Because it rhymes, Drunk Monk, Established Relationship, First time-ish?, M/M, Multi, and a little bit of fluff, because Viking family feelings, porn without much plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-07
Updated: 2013-03-07
Packaged: 2017-12-04 13:54:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/711478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Demibel/pseuds/Demibel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He is sometimes called lamb, sometimes called priest, but only they can call him that.</p><p>Ragnar and Althestan take a trip, and are alone for the first time since Althestan has come to them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wolf and the Lamb

**Author's Note:**

> This was requested by MoonHowler (Hope your midterms are going well) and watery_weasel, but I hope everyone enjoys it.
> 
> Ties into to this first fic here- http://archiveofourown.org/works/710408

After their first time together, Athelstan rarely slept alone. Lagertha and Ragnar were too warm and too welcoming to want to sleep on the mat they had provided for him. He was an eager student, willing to learn the ways to best please his captors, though they had become much more than that. Their first time together as a triad had been slow, and gentle. They had seen how unsure he was, and so tender with them, and they obliged, willing to go at an unnaturally slow pace for him, so that the touch-starved former monk could get accustomed to the sensation of skin on skin.

 

He had been so lost the first few times, drowning in ecstasy as they took turns taking him into their mouths until he felt as if he could not move without breaking. Each kiss scorched him with Hellfire, but then their tenderness toward him after cooled the burns they left, marking his skin and claiming him as theirs. Every mark or bruise took him one step further away from his world, and brought him into theirs. And he found himself becoming more and more comfortable with it. He learned of another way of being, of believing in God, but being less sacrificing. To worship God by enjoying all of His wonders. He appreciated the beauty of Lagertha, writhing on all fours in front of him, while she had her husband’s cock in her mouth. The look on Ragnar’s face as they found their release, and the looks they shared as they worked to show Lagertha the same courtesy, that was how he now found God. Finding salvation through love, that was his new religion, and it was good.

 

The former monk was never quite an equal in the home, of course. He was still expected to perform certain tasks, if only for the sake for appearances. Rollo came over often enough that Athelstan had to at least pretend he was not in love with Ragnar and Lagertha. Because he was certain that he was. When he was buried deep within Lagertha and had taken Ragnar in his mouth to taste, and her heard their cries of pleasure, and he was the one who was helping to make them, he was certain that he was in love with them both, and that they loved him. Why else would they show him such kindness? Why else would they introduce him to such pleasures? They showed him a new way to live and worship his God through their heathen ways. Love was a miracle of God, and to love and be loved by two, he was doubly blessed.

 

He had grown, since coming to them, in stature and in confidence. He carried himself with a grace that belied his newfound strength. While they were muscle-bound in their figures, he was lean and lithe, but Ragnar was impressed when the little man could carry almost as much as him. It was time, he decided, to bring him along to Kattegat. He would not be made to wear the Heraldson’s ring as a house slave, but to meet the other men of his clan, to be accepted into the family, it would cement his place in their hearth and in their hearts.

 

 

It would be Athelstan’s first time away from the home he had found with Lagertha and the children, and he was almost wistful as he turned back to wave goodbye to them. He and Ragnar would make the journey alone. The trip was easy, they shared food and fire and furs underneath the stars. Ragnar made no move to touch the former priest, but he held the slight man close, burying his nose in thick, unruly curls. He did not say it, but the priest had become a symbol of home, and to have him along gave him comfort when he ached for his own bed.

 

The meeting of the men was uneventful. Erik and Leif, two men Athelstan recognized from the voyage to this new home clapped him on the back and pushed tankard after tankard of ale into his hands until he was laughing without abandon at jokes only they could understand. Ragnar looked at him fondly and threw his arm round his shoulders. “Come, priest. Lie down.” He could only chuckle and nod, burrowing his nose into the crook of the larger man’s neck as he was placed on a rough mat. The sound of the men’s laughter was faint as Ragnar laid next to him, pulling him to his broad chest.

 

Emboldened by drink, Athelstan’s hands began to wander. After such a long time being so starved for contact, and then suddenly being allowed to touch, he could not help but to seek it out now. Ragnar chuckled and let the priest explore. They had not been together alone yet, and he was eager, tilting the brunette’s head up to capture his lips in a searing kiss. Athelstan thought he would never grow tired of kissing. It was just as good as the sexual acts he had learned, and he craved the closeness, and the taste and the feeling that a kiss could bring, and Ragnar could kiss.

 

They stayed like that for a long time, laying on their sides and kissing roughly, with teeth and tongue meeting and gnashing and fighting for dominance, though Ragnar easily won. And then they began removing clothes and armor and the cross that still hung from Athelstan’s neck. “Tell me, little lamb…” Ragnar growled, running his hands down the smaller man’s back. “Have you ever wondered what it would be like to have a man inside you? Have you ever looked down at Lagertha and wanted to know how she feels with my cock buried inside her?” Athelstan’s eyes widened and he nodded, choking on the words with a strangled gasp as Ragnar palmed his groin. “Y-yes.” He stammered, eliciting a breathy chuckle from Ragnar.

 

The Viking shifted to move Athelstan to lay on his belly, caressing the curve of his back, his rear, the backs of his thighs. He pressed a kiss between the smaller man’s shoulders, admiring the new muscle he found there. He was pleased with the small gasps and hitches in breaths the man was producing, and it only caused him to swell further with the knowledge that this was the first time he would experience this. The bottle of oil was meant to feed the fires, but it would do nicely for his purposes, he thought as he slicked his fingers, long and rough with use.

Athelstan tensed when he felt the first finger pressed against him, but Ragnar leaned down to whisper “Relax, my priest. I will bring you pleasure, but you must allow me to.” So with a deep breath, the former monk nodded, relaxing his muscles as much as possible. Ragnar slid in slowly, to allow the man to get used to the sensation. Athelstan gasped loudly, and clawed at the mat beneath him. It was like nothing he had ever felt before. It was painful for a moment, a burning stretch that was only tempered by the oil on Ragnar’s fingers. But soon enough, his body relaxed around the intrusion, and it was no longer painful, but odd. “Dear God.” He gasped out as Ragnar began to move his finger, stretching him gradually. Another finger was added, and Athelstan nearly cried out from the sensation. It was no longer painful, but teetering on the edge of pleasure, and his body was betraying him as he arched his back, desperate for more contact and _oh, Christ what was that?_

 

Ragnar had brushed his finger against a spot within him that made him cry out and shake, and if he was not totally hard before, he was achingly firm now. “Please. Please, Ragnar….Again.” He begged, panting heavily, just to feel that delicious sensation again. “Patience, lamb.” The Viking growled, using the priests other silly nickname. “You’ll get it soon enough.” A third finger was swiftly added, and after a few moments he withdrew, earning him a low whine from Athelstan at the loss. “Shhh, shh.” The larger man slicked his cock with the oil and positioned himself between the priest’s thighs. “Tell me you want this, Priest.” He asked, his voice barely above a low growl, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. Athelstan turned his head to answer. “Ragnar, please. I need you, need to feel you. Please let me have you. I want this.” His begging was the sweetest prayer Ragnar had ever heard, and in one smooth motion, he thrusted in, sheathing himself in the tight heat of his priest.

 

Athelstan had to bite down on his fist to keep from screaming. It was an intrusion, and a sweet stretch, but the feeling of being filled with Ragnar, to know this was how Lagertha must feel when she was filled with either of them, he nearly sobbed in the pleasure of that idea alone. But then Ragnar shifted to hitch the smaller hips up, changing to hit that spot once more and Athelstan could not help the string of curses and moans that spilled from his lips.

 

Ragnar went slow at first, drinking in the man’s sounds, and the look of his back arching underneath him, and the sight of where they were joined. He raised his hand and gave Athelstan’s rear an experimental slap, earning a sharp gasp, and a pretty red mark, stark against pale flesh. It urged him forward, a faster, harder pace, one that he was used to setting with Lagertha, and his head fell back in pleasure when he imagined her, their priest’s mouth on her, as he fucked him from behind. The promise of that future was clear now, and it made his hips snaps forward, finding pleasure in every single thrust forward. His hand snaked around the other man’s waist to wrap a still oil slick hand around his cock.

 

When Ragnar began to stroke him in time to his thrusts, Athelstan nearly sobbed in pleasure. It was so much at once and he was so sure that he was in love, because this pleasure was a miracle and it had to be love because why else would it feel this good? “R-ragnar.” He sputtered, feeling his release sneak up on him as he body began to tense. In the back of his mind, a very small part of rational thought looked back to his first orgasm, and how much he had learned about his body since then, but that was easily drowned out by the violent shudders that took him by surprise as he fell over the edge and spilled into Ragnar’s hand, onto the mat.

 

Athelstan’s tightening muscles, and sinful moans only furthered Ragnar’s pleasure, and he followed his priest over that edge not long after. He slumped across the man’s back, pressing kisses against sweaty skin, and licking his lips from the sweat salty taste there. Athelstan turned, forcing the Viking off his back and onto the mat and settled in his place against the larger man’s chest easily, as if he had always belonged there. He was sore, exhausted and spent, but he was still able to press a kiss to Ragnar’s palm, before wrapping his massive around across his waist. In his native tongue, he whispered. “I love you.” And even though Ragnar could not understand the words, he knew the tone, and the feeling, and he nodded. “And I you, my priest.” He murmured against damp curls. They fell asleep wrapped up in each other, dreaming of the next day when they would be home, and Lagertha would be able to see what Athelstan had learned, and their family would be complete.


End file.
